“I like bringing her things. It’s not as if I’m there all the time. At least this way she knows I’m thinking of her and when she looks at her mounds of dust they’ll remind her of me.”
“Like she’d forget you in a hurry. Okay, okay,” he relented as I glowered at him and got out of the car.
We were greeted by a very grumpy old man wearing slippers and a waistcoat who peered at us suspiciously over the top of his glasses when we entered his little shop, making the bell attachment on the door ring noisily.
“You break anything, you pay for it!” he barked as I lifted an ornamental cottage that took my fancy (or rather which I knew Mammy would like – painted china wasn’t really my style). I decided to buy the cottage and also lifted a jar of boiled sweets and a magnetic notice for the fridge that said, ‘I’m a lover not a fighter so I never fight the urge to eat.’ My mother is permanently on a diet so it’s an in-joke at this stage.
“That’ll be thirty euro,” the old man said gruffly.
“‘Pleeeeaasse,’” I said as Luke started to groan.
“Pardon?”
“‘Please.’ It’s a word that most shop owners who are grateful for business use with their customers especially when they’re charging extortionate prices for crappy old bits of tat.”
I glared at him and he glared back until he turned away and I heard a gurgle emanating from his person. When he turned round to serve me again he was pulling his mouth into all sorts of strange shapes.
“Is there something wrong with you?” I enquired as the door opened again and a younger man came through.
“I got those fishing rods that you were after, Dad. Got a good bargain too. I think you’ll be pleased.”
I looked at the speaker and registered that he must be in his mid to late fifties. He was a rather cheerful man (which was a bloody miracle given his parentage – maybe he was adopted too) and looked like he took good care of himself and I supposed he was quite attractive and distinguished in an older-man sort of way. He smiled broadly at us after shouting out a greeting, which Luke responded to, and disappeared into the back of the shop.
I brought my attention back to the matter in hand as I waited for Mr Grouchy Slippers to exchange pleasantries before I paid him.
“Thirty euro, young lady,” he said slowly. “Please.”
“There you are,” I answered in the same slow tone of voice. “Thank you.”
We surveyed each other for a further while until I thought I might go cross-eyed and then I prepared to leave.
“Do call again,” he said in a sarcastic tone.
“I would but I’d be afraid of catching whatever bug it is that turns you into a grumpy oul git,” I muttered under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Not a thing,” I said cheerfully. “Have a nice day now.”
Luke eyed me as I got into the car and then burst out laughing. “I’d say that’s the first time he’s cracked a smile in years, Ruby.”
“Hmmph! God love that poor son of his. He must have his work cut out for him. It’s a wonder he’s as happy as he is. He must have a good woman putting a smile on his face in the background. It’s surprising what a bit of action in the bedroom can do for your spirits.”
We arrived at my mother’s little cottage some ten minutes later. I sighed with contentment as the sun had come out and I knew it was going to be a glorious day. The cottage was situated in the grounds of a seaside manor which had been converted into a hotel by its late owner, Lord Bartley Monroe. No one was more shocked than Mammy when she discovered that it had been bequeathed to her in her aunt’s will. My great-aunt Kate Kennedy (who had the wits to stay single) had been the housekeeper in the manor for almost fifty years and the cottage had been her living quarters. On her retirement, however, Bartley Monroe made the grand gesture of giving it to her in appreciation for her loyalty and hard work.
No one could have believed that the grounds of the Big House had hidden such a treasure as the cottage. It was quaint, the outside of it alone being truly charming, especially at this time of year – late spring. The mottled stone walls at either side of the building had trellises, one bearing bright beautiful yellow roses and the other fragrant wisteria. The cobbled back yard was covered in a carpet of cherry blossom as the tree, situated at the gate, had begun shedding its blooms, leaving the ground pink and soft and aromatic. A wooden summer seat with wrought-iron antique legs sat at the front of the house whilst a wooden garden gazebo occupied the back of the property.
On entering the house (if you could tear yourself away from the outside of it) you were greeted with bright and airy rooms which boasted antique furnishings and had a lovely old-world feel about them. In the sitting room there was an open fire in the centre of an ornamental stone fireplace, always flanked by a wicker basket of freshly dug turf. A dresser with plates propped side by side and cups hanging from hooks occupied another wall. There was also a sideboard that my mother had adorned with an arrangement of family photographs (mostly me in various states of gap-toothed youth with horrendous hair). With lace curtains at the window and an armchair to view the garden, Mammy could contentedly sit there for hours if she felt inclined – but sitting still for any length of time was alien to her.
There were two rather large bedrooms and an additional room which she used to house her impressive collection of books. There was also an old-fashioned bathroom with a free-standing bath and an airing cupboard. In short it was perfect and Mammy had aptly named it ‘Ripples Retreat’.
“Hello, darlin’!” my mother shouted through an open kitchen window where she was snipping the stems off an assortment of flowers before arranging them in a vase.
My mother is a rather large woman. She maintains that it’s the result of regularly trying out the produce she makes for her shop, although she has slimmed down a bit in recent years due to trying many mad and whacky diets (low calorie, low fat, light, I-can’t-believe-it’s-not, no bread, no dairy, no feckin fun . . . the list was endless). I thought she was cute and cuddly with a very pretty smile and had the loveliest blue eyes. She also had a twenty-four-carat heart and made an impression on everyone she met. With a raucous laugh and a witty repertoire, she was popular with her neighbours and had already made many friends in her new area. She looked particularly nice today as she was wearing what looked like a new dress and she also seemed to have had her hair done.
“I hope you’re both hungry. I’ve made a chicken and ham pie and there’s baked potatoes and salad as well. Come in and make yourselves comfortable and I’ll fix you both a drink.”
“Aaaaaahhhhh,” Luke sighed contentedly as he took his first sip of chilled home-made lemonade. “People should forget about going further up the road to that hotel. They wouldn’t get any better treatment there than you give here.”
“Too bloody right,” I announced loudly in response. “You’d get looked after better here any day of the week and you wouldn’t have to pay through the nose for the privilege either.”
“Mmm,” Mammy said, looking thoughtful for a moment. “There’s something funny going on up there at the minute and I have a bad feeling about it all. A Harry McQueen and his daughter – some sort of far-distant relatives of Lord Bartley but his only remaining ones – inherited the place from him when he died recently and took over the running of it. They may be relatives of a sort but they’re nothing at all like the old man and they’ve been stirring up no end of trouble – half the staff have walked out and the ones that stayed are about to embark on a mutiny. They’ve been snooping around here too, asking all sorts of nosy questions.”
“What?” I said, spitting out half my drink. “Who’s been sniffing round you?”
“No one’s been sniffing around me. But it seems the McQueens are interested in this place. I think they look at it and see euro signs.”
“Why?”
“Well, think about it logically, Ruby. If I wasn’t here they could rent this out as a summer cottage or let it to
a permanent tenant or knock it down and turn it into something.”
“Over my dead body or actually over theirs if they so much as dare to look at you in the wrong way! Who do they think they are, treating you like that?”
“Rubbeee,” Mammy said in a warning tone (everyone speaks to me in that voice at some time or another. It’s like something a lion tamer would use. I never understood why, though. I am perfectly calm. Honestly).
“We’ll take a walk around there sometime soon and check it out,” Luke said with a frown. “We’ll not let anyone sniff anywhere they shouldn’t be sniffing.”
He was very fond of my mother and I knew he would go to the ends of the earth just to make sure she was happy.
“How are your mother and father doing these days, Luke?” Mammy asked whilst still bustling around fixing napkins and straightening the tablecloth.
I looked nervously at Luke who had stiffened and was doing a good impression of someone who had just had a poker shoved up their arse.
I slowly shook my head and tried to look inconspicuous but obviously didn’t succeed as Luke was now glaring crossly at me. Mentioning the delightful (I’m joking) Mr and Mrs Reilly was enough to create this reaction in both Luke and his sister, Mandy, and was warranted when you took into account the fact that his father was the most irritating, smart-arsed man in the world and an alcoholic who had drunk the family savings. His mother was no better. She was a lush who would snog the face off a teenage boy given half the chance and chances had indeed presented themselves – there were enough embarrassing and cringe-worthy stories to prove it. They were both currently living in Spain (thank feck) and we tried not to mention them if at all possible. Although Luke tried to maintain contact with them, his gestures were not reciprocated, and they only ever rang if they wanted something – usually money. How they were surviving was anyone’s guess and perhaps we were better off not knowing.
“They’re fine, I think,” Luke answered stiffly. “This looks like a lovely spread, Isobel. I can’t wait for lunch.”
Mammy took the change of subject as the hint it was intended to be and said no more whilst I finally started to breathe normally again.
I was looking round the room when I noticed that the dinner table had been set for five as opposed to three.
“Are we expecting guests?” I asked, surprised. “You never said anything. Who’s coming over?”
“I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Ruby, and I thought that today might be as good a time as any.”
“That’s nice,” I commented uncertainly.
“They’ll be here shortly,” Mammy said as she peered round the sitting-room curtain. “Actually they’re here now.”
She practically ran from the room (which is no mean feat for someone carrying an extra four stone in weight) and started to smooth down her hair and smack her lips in the hall mirror.
“God, this friend must be a complete glamour puss when Mammy’s going to all this trouble,” I laughed as Luke craned his neck to see who was coming in.
“Some glamour puss,” Luke muttered a few seconds later but it was only when he threatened to go purple from trying not to laugh that I realised that something was amiss. I turned round and nearly suffered organ failure when I was faced with none other than my slipper-wearing sparring partner from earlier and his son who had his arm around my mother.
“Guess we know who’s keeping the smile on his face now,” Luke murmured.
My own mammy was a floozy with a thing for middle-aged Lotharios (note the way he had ceased being a distinguished older man now I’d got wind of the notion he might be porking my mother). How could she do this to me? How could she do this to Daddy and his memory?
Chapter 4
Everybody stood rooted to the spot with the exception of Old Man Humpy Hole who seemed to find the whole situation very amusing and kept sucking in his cheeks and making chewing movements as if he had something in his mouth. It would be my feckin boot if he wasn’t careful.
Mammy was entirely oblivious to the uncomfortable situation I now found myself in and gaily looked at us all whilst making introductions.
“Ruby, I’d like you to meet Donal O’Donnell. He and I have been good friends for a while now but have become quite close. Donal, this is my daughter Ruby.”
“And how close is close exactly?” I enquired through gritted teeth.
Mammy coloured and frowned, Donal shifted his feet and played with the button on his shirt and Luke grabbed me by the arm and steered me into the kitchen before I could say another word (which was rather unfortunate as I had quite a lot to say).
“Ruby, darling, you don’t think you’re overreacting just a tad, do you?” he whispered, still holding me in a vicelike grip.
“I never overreact, darling. I just tell it like it is and the way I see it my mother has obviously been carrying on with that cretin and not told me and all the time I’ve been fretting that she was putting a brave face on it but feeling lonely and still missing Daddy!”
“And you’d like her to continue being lonely and have her constantly hankering after your father, would you?”
Luke was looking at me sternly now and I was wondering why I was being cast in the role of bad guy. I wasn’t the one putting myself about at an age where people shouldn’t even be considering such things.
Mammy came bustling into the room two seconds later and fixed me with a penetrating glare.
“Ruby, when I said ‘close’ I didn’t mean that I was having sex with him.”
I jumped three foot in the air, covered my ears, closed my eyes and began to sing loudly whilst trying not to gag. My mother had just said the word ‘sex’ and was referring to it in the first person which indicated that she thought it was still a possibility (Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck . . . you get the general idea . . .).
When I opened my eyes my mother had gone back to her ‘guests’.
“Is she always this highly strung?”
Now he (the devil incarnate who was leading my mother astray and having her talk dirty) was talking about me in the third person as if I wasn’t living, breathing and contemplating blue murder within earshot.
“It’s a bit shocking for her, I think. She was very close to her father. My Albert was a wonderful man, y’know, but eventually you learn to accept the things that are laid out for you and move on.”
“Speaking of getting laid, Mammy,” I said, making a big re-entrance, “your close friend and I met earlier when I stopped to get you these.”
I thrust my bag of treats into her hands and proceeded to march out of the house but not before I heard the old goat in the sitting room say, “Make sure and thank her now or you’ll have her taking the nose off you for having no manners.”
I roughly wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I had been so looking forward to seeing Mammy. Things weren’t meant to turn out this way and I had a nasty feeling that I had gone too far and stuck my big DM boot in it as only I can. Daddy would soundly whip my ass if he knew and he’d be right. It was just that I still missed him so much and could never imagine my mother with anyone else. It seemed wrong and disrespectful to his memory although I knew instinctively that if Daddy could speak from beyond the grave he would want Mammy to be happy and have a companion of sorts. Who was I to dictate who my mother was friends with? She had the right to speak to and socialise with whoever she wanted and I had no right to interfere (note I was no longer referring to the ‘S’ word, for purely self-preservation reasons). I was still sitting out of view and cross-legged in the gazebo at the back of the cottage when Luke came to find me some time later.
“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively, handing me a glass of wine. “Courtesy of your mother. She thinks she’s upset you and that you won’t speak to her so I’m only the messenger and I’d appreciate not getting shot, thanks.”
“I think if I had a gun I’d probably shoot myself as opposed to you,” I muttered, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself. “I suppose everyon
e thinks I’m a complete nutter now.”
“I think it’s more a proven fact and not just a mere thought, Ruby darling. You are a nutter.”
“Uuuugh!” I wailed as I hung my head in my hands and wished for the millionth time that human beings had the capacity to kick their own arses as my big toe would be firmly jabbed in mine. Why was I so stupid and insensitive and so unlike my loving, giving, selfless mother? Well, the answer to that question was glaringly obvious, wasn’t it? It was just another rogue gene making an entrance at an inopportune moment (and it wasn’t the first time) and the sooner I knew what else was ahead of me the better.
“I’ll be in, in a minute, Luke. Just leave me on my own until I decide what’s the best way to take my foot out of my mouth without losing too much credibility in the process. I bet that old grouch is just loving the fact that I’ve made an eejit of myself after me trying to prove a point to him earlier.”
“He’s actually quite nice when you give him a chance and aren’t chewing the head off him, although by his own admission he came tonight primarily to check your mother out and see that she was good enough for his son.”
“He did fecking what?” I roared, sloshing wine round my feet and making Luke jump up in fright.
“Ruby, calm down before you go making another scene out of nothing. He thinks your mother is lovely. A brilliant cook. A lovely, kind and gentle person and an all-round lady. He made her blush – you should have seen her smiling in delight when he was complimenting her. Donal also seems like a good man and not the roving Casanova that you’ve branded him. Your mum and he only got friendly because they’re both volunteers down in the Senior Citizens’ Club and have been working together now for a few years. It’s hardly a sordid affair and it’s not as if they’re hurting anybody.”
“Thank you, Luke. I already felt like a prize twat but feel free to continue to make me feel worse if you must. I suppose it’s no less than I deserve for getting the wrong end of the stick as usual.”
Anyone for Me? Page 3